


I've Been Waiting

by Ki_Ken_Tai_Ichi



Category: One Piece
Genre: Awkward Dates, Awkward Flirting, Chopper is in this too technically, Drinking, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, I know it's not Zoro who's wasted this time, I'm very glad that's a tag, M/M, Vomiting, because if Zoro and Sanji ever do flirt you can bet your ass it's gonna be awkward flirting, but I made him a dog, in that they are bad dates, it's not very detailed but is mentioned, just as a warning to any emetophobias who might read this, sorry - Freeform, specifically Sanji, weird huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_Ken_Tai_Ichi/pseuds/Ki_Ken_Tai_Ichi
Summary: Sanji hasn't had the best of luck with dates, but maybe his luck will change with the help of some (a lot of) wine, a dog, and a very forgiving Marimo.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	I've Been Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Sanji ^_^

Sanji sat in the restaurant, sipping his wine as leisurely as he could under such circumstances. That being his date was twenty-two minutes late. And while, at first, he may’ve still been hopeful about his date’s eventual –and extremely apologetic— arrival, it gets old after the seventeenth time. Yes. Seventeenth. Now, this wasn’t the seventeenth time with the same person- mind you. He may be forgiving, but he wasn’t an idiot. No, this was the seventeenth person altogether. If he were to include all second (and third) chances, the number would in fact be closer to twenty-nine. Twenty-nine times he’s been stood up.

And while Sanji isn’t one to fixate on his flaws or burgeon any miniscule self-esteem issues, he knows he’s not perfect. He’s willing to admit that he’s a bit lanky, his breathe stunk of cigarettes, and his vocabulary was a bit on the colorful side, but all in all he was a pretty good catch. He was considerate of others, could cook anything under the sun, had legs for days, and was the most flexible someone could be with an intact spine. And yet…after so many rejections anyone –even someone as confident as Sanji— would be left wondering: _what’s wrong with me?_

He polished off his second glass of wine and poured a third without any reconsideration. He swirled the dark red liquid in his glass while eyeing the drink as if it were the sole source of his misery. In fact, he’s fairly certain this glare is what caused the approaching waiter to spin on his heel and march far away from his half-occupied table. Sanji exhaled with great displeasure and drained the entire glass in one go. He even chased waiters away.

And his date was supposed to be a sure thing too…

Sanji, to make a long story short, played for both teams. Because of this, Sanji had thought his dating life would be a breeze. Especially considering his nonexistent standards for women; nonexistent in that he didn’t really have any preferences. Blonde, brunette, ginger, raven, dark skin, pale skin, freckles, dimples, tall, short, thin, curvy, athletic, brainy, girly, funny; all women were beautiful and unique in their own lovely way. That alone should have made dating easy. Additionally, being open to men –even if he was picky in this category— should have put him on the dating equivalent of cheat mode!

And that’s why he was so confused how –time and time again— he was put in this position. In fact, tonight should have been a cinch! The guy meeting him had wanted a thin, pale, blond to have a good time with for one or two nights (maybe even the week) while Sanji was simply hoping for a bit of action. If neither were looking for anything serious and both matched their desired traits, then what the hell was the problem? Why didn’t the bastard show? If anything, this guy was less what Sanji was looking for than vice versa. Too short, too thin (like a matchbox, Sanji was half afraid of breaking him) with shaggy, brown hair that hung so low it nearly covered his eyes. So if anyone were to be stood up, it should have been that guy!

Sanji pictured the man’s slightly too narrow face and scowled. After growing tired of rejection after rejection, he’d finally decided to be a little more lenient about the men he picked up and this was what he got for it? Another fucking no show?

Before Sanji knew it, he was upending the last of his Pinot Noir into his wineglass. After trying to smooth over his frown, Sanji gestured to the –understandably— nervous waiter and asked for another bottle. This time a Verdelho Madeira, with a seafood bisque. He’d give the bastard one more bottle and appetizer to show up. And if not by then…Sanji wasn’t even sure anymore.

\---------------

Zoro shoved his feet into his sneakers and threw on an overcoat, cursing all the while. He practically kicked open his back door and stomped out, shouting out Chopper’s name. That damned dog was usually so good about responding to Zoro’s call. Just why in the hell wasn’t he coming back?

He rounded the corner of his house, heading for the blind spot to his back window where Chopper sometimes liked to hide and eat things he shouldn’t, and found Chopper. As well as a whole ass person petting him.

“You love me, right?” The blond man asked as he scratched Chopper behind the ear.

Chopper thumped his hind leg, and the man seemed to take that as encouragement, wrapping his arms around the body of the dog and nuzzling his face into the thick fur. And seeing as how Chopper was an attention whore, as most big dogs are, Zoro watched his once-loyal companion completely ignore his order to come and continued sitting in the arms of the stranger.

“You’re just such a good boy,” the man cooed, his slurring voice muffled by Chopper’s coat. “A good boy, the best boy. Bon chien. Bon chien! Yes you _are_!”

Zoro just stared, unsure how exactly to ask this obviously drunk man to leave his yard. And judging by the intense wagging of Chopper’s tail, he wasn’t going to be any help. So the “big scary attack dog” façade was out. Time for Plan B.

Zoro cleared his throat and fixed an intense look on his face. The kind that Nami had told him more than once to stop making in public because it, at best, made other people uncomfortable, or at worst, made him look like an unhinged serial killer.

“What are you doing?” Zoro asked, keeping his scowl in place even as the blond, arms still around his dog, twisted his face to the side to see who spoke.

“Ah, you must be the owner. Pretty owner of pretty dog.” The man smiled as he swayed to his feet.

Zoro’s next words, a vague threat about no one finding the blond’s body, stuck in his throat at the sudden comment. Pretty? No one in their right mind would ever call him pretty. Just how fucking drunk was this guy?

“You know, thanks for the dog, I really needed him.” The blond went on to say as he patted Chopper on the head. He was practically slapping the dog with how heavy his inebriated hand was falling, but Chopper, thick skulled as he was, seemed to enjoy it regardless.

“You’re, you’re welcome?” Zoro replied, more out of reflex than anything. He flinched when his words seemed to coax an unexpected wave of tears from the blond’s unfocused eyes.

“Thank you so much,” he said again, and launched his arms around Zoro’s neck. He leaned his weight into Zoro and started to cry, tears streaming down his face and soaking into the strip of Zoro’s shirt left unprotected by his jacket.

“I-I, I’m all alone. Alone again. Why don’t they ever show up? What wrong with me?” The man wheezed between heavy sobs as something that felt suspiciously like snot slid down Zoro’s bare neck. He tried very hard not to punch the man by reminding himself the fines in place for physical assault.

Thankfully, the blond soon pulled himself off of Zoro’s abused shoulder, though he didn’t release the grip he had around Zoro’s neck.

“Am I sexy?” The man asked, tears and snot making it hard for Zoro to give a kind answer. And yet, despite all that, Zoro could still see the fine bone structure and the bright blue eyes and the cute eyebrows shine through the mess across his face.

And hell, Zoro was never really in the habit of lying, to himself or others, and it wasn’t like this guy, who he didn’t even know, would remember any of this, drunk off his ass as he was. So there really was no harm in comforting him.

“Yeah, you’re sexy.”

“Really, like, really? You’re not just bein’ nice?” The man’s eyes were wide and wet and open and honest. And Zoro really just couldn’t find it in him to be mean so late in the night to someone so clearly distraught.

“No, I mean, I, I’d fuck you.”

To his surprise, the blond seemed inordinately pleased with the crass comment and clung to him even tighter. That or maybe the liquor finally took his wobbly legs out from under him.

“Right, right, ‘m sexy,” the blond mumbled into his chest. “So, so then, so why do they never show up? All these dates, and no, no one comes. Haven’t even met me and they run.”

And Zoro opened his mouth to describe exactly the kind of asshole who didn’t even have the courtesy to show up or the balls to cancel when the blond slumped down and threw up all over his shoes.

“You know,” Zoro bit out as he could feel the warm fluid seep through the mesh top of his sneakers, doubly so when another surge of vomit was added to the mix. “Everyone has the right to their opinion.”

\---------------

Sanji woke up alone, which was to be expected after that disaster of a date that never was. He wasn’t in his bed though, which was unexpected and, admittedly, concerning. Stranger still, he wasn’t in a bed at all but spread across the ratty couch of a living room he didn’t recognize.

He sat up, too quick he realized as his head spun in protest to the sudden shift in posture. He noticed the glass of water and pills on the nearby table. After debating the probably that the pills were illicit, Sanji gave in to the pounding headache and took the risk. He swallowed the two pills with a gulp of water and continued drinking until the glass was dry. He got to his feet, slowly and carefully so a sudden dizzy spell wouldn’t send him headfirst to the sharp corner of the coffee table, and stumbled towards the kitchen. Thankfully, the house/apartment was an open concept type and Sanji had few obstacles in his way to the sink.

He practically hung on the stainless-steel basin as he filled the glass with tap water and drank. He was about to refill his glass again when he noticed shoes in the sink. Exactly what kind of weirdo’s house was he in? Certainly the kind of person to keep their smelly shoes in the sink was up to no good. He tucked away the unusual detail for later and focused on refilling his glass and drinking.

Sanji was in the middle of deciding whether his stomach could handle a fourth glass of water when he heard the lock turn in the front room. He dropped the glass into the sink, luckily it didn’t shatter, and quickly turned around to see who came in.

His head was still fuzzy and muddled from his sudden movements, but he was at least able to make out the thud of heavy boots and the clacking of nails across hardwood flooring. He saw the large dog barreling towards him and reached down to pet the frantic creature as its owner closed the front door. Sanji, keeping his head bowed down towards the dog, brought his gaze up for a nonchalant look at his mystery kidnapper.

He was tall, but not much taller than him. Maybe only an inch, but he definitely beat Sanji in mass. The broad shoulders alone were an indication of that fact, and the oversized sweatshirt hid was what likely to be more bulk underneath. He ran a hand through violently green hair and the three golden earrings in his left ear chimed as his wrist brushed against them. He wasn’t looking at Sanji at the moment, too busy hanging the leash on the hook by the door, but his eyebrows raised when he did finally catch sight of him.

“Hey, you survived. Glad I don’t have to make another 911 call.” The man huffed as he sedately toed off his boots. “You know those operators start getting rude after the fifth or so time. It’s pretty unprofessional.” 

His voice was low, his hair unkempt, his clothes ratty; everything about him was so _rough_. And yet Sanji couldn’t keep himself from liking it –from liking everything— even his stupid green hair.

“Uh, yeah,” was all Sanji could manage to say as he was bombarded by the dual forces of excited dog and hot guy conversation.

“Name’s Zoro, by the way. In case you wanna send apology gift for the shoes.”

“For the sho-” Sanji remembered the shoes in the sink and the stench that had wafted up from them. And he’d been drinking last night. And he was at this guy’s house/apartment. “Oh no,”

“Oh yeah, but don’t beat yourself up about it. They’re old. I used them for mowing the lawn and shit.”

“Well,” Sanji spoke, trying to fill the awkward atmosphere with sound in the desperate hope it would be a little less so. “I, uh, I can give you my address, so, um, next time you get drunk you can, uh, return the favor?”

Sanji hadn’t expected the snort of laughter nor the challenging cross of arms over his chest. “I don’t get drunk.” The man –Zoro— stated.

“Oh, well I…sorry I was just… I assumed you-”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I drink. A lot. I’m just not a lightweight who gets hammered from a bottle of wine.”

Sanji didn’t like the bragging undertones and briefly regretted his offer. Instead of saying so, however, his not-quite-sober mouth decided to meet this challenge. “Yeah right. I bet I could drink you under the table.”

Zoro snorted ungracefully and turned towards Sanji, his smirk on a level of crooked that impressed even him. “You wanna bet?”

“Fine, come over to my place tonight then and we’ll see just who’s the lightweight.” Sanji’s mouth moved before he could fully think the offer through.

“It’s a date.”

And that was enough to shut his running mouth. It all came back at him at once. The no show last night. The bottles of wine he’d guzzled. The staggering walk he’d made vaguely homeward. The beautiful dog he’d spotted. The manly voice who’d promised Sanji really was sexy.

He could feel his face burning from it all, but he swallowed down the bile that perched, menacingly, in the back of his throat and forced a smile to settle across his face.

“Perfect. 103 Walnut Street. And don’t be late.” And to complete the charade of suave control he’d suddenly decided to pose under, Sanji headed for the door and slipped on his dress shoes.

“103 Walnut Street,” Zoro recited and wrote the address on a notepad that lied on the table beside the landline. “Can’t wait.”

“Better bring your A-game.” Sanji swore as he opened the door. He stepped outside and closed it behind him without hearing what Zoro had to say in response to that. He made it exactly twenty-seven steps, the exact amount needed to get out of sight of Zoro’s house, before he buried his furiously blushing face into his hands.

_It’s a date?_

_Bring your A-game?!?!?!?!_

Just what in the hell was the matter with him? What kind of messed up flirting even was that? And. And did it just work? Zoro wrote down his address. He seemed excited. Was he about to let that man into his house, into his _bedroom_ , tonight?!?

Sanji heaved three deep breathes and forced himself to keep walking. If he really did have a date tonight, there was a lot to do to prepare. A house to clean, a meal to prep, a wine to select, a hangover to cure. Too much to do in, he checked his watch, too little time. Even so, he couldn’t withhold the pep in his step. He had a date tonight!

And here’s hoping this one didn’t keep him waiting.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Started this back in 2017 from some “ugly meet-cute” prompt list I had seem on Tumblr at the time. Four years is definitely not too long to sit on a WIP. I don’t know what you’re talking about.
> 
> And sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors. As per usual I have been writing while drinking (it’s what Sanji would have wanted). 
> 
> Oh yeah, “bon chien” is “good dog” in French (according to google) and you can pry French Sanji from my cold dead hands.


End file.
